


some things you do for money

by nighimpossible



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Escort Service, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Martin Is A Date For Hire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: Dear PoeticSoul (if that is your real name),Hello. I’ve never done this before, so I’m not quite sure how it goes but—I need a date for Friday, December 21st. My work is hosting a holiday party and for the past three years, I have gone alone. Which has beenfine, really, until my colleagues began making rather unseemly comments. And my boss—well, if you come with me, I’m sure you’ll gather Elias’s character when you meet him. He’s a bit...unsettling, and I’d rather have someone there as a bit of a buffer.As stated in my profile, this is not a sex thing—to be clear. I need you to be my boyfriend. Just for one night.Let me know about the cost. I do hope you’re worth whatever exorbitant fee you’re charging.Jon*Jon hires Martin to be his boyfriend for the Magnus Institute's holiday party.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, background Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 101
Kudos: 1688





	some things you do for money

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a canon adjacent universe that mirrors the events of true canon but allows a soft and happy ending. Elias and Jon have some shadow of their canon powers in this AU, but the apocalypse is not exactly nigh here. Title from "Love, Love, Love," by the Mountain Goats. This fic does deal with the death of Martin's mother, so FYI, canon typical side character death that also takes place off screen.
> 
> No beta we die like men

“Well, we all know Jon’s coming alone,” Tim says, trying to alleviate Melanie’s party related concerns. “So that’s one person to knock off the list.”

At this, Elias looks across the room at Jon. “Still no plus one, Jonathan?” Jon’s blood feels as if it is suddenly running cold. “Pity.” The way in which the word drips off Elias’s tongue gives Jon a shiver. It’s clear that regardless of what Elias says outwardly, he likes the idea of Jon coming alone to this holiday party.

Which is exactly why Jon _cannot_ show up to this party alone.

“I’m not coming alone,” Jon blurts out.

Tim rolls his eyes. “What, is your mum in town?”

Jon absolutely does not have the emotional bandwidth to go into the whole _my parents are dead, arsehole_ conversation right now, so instead he simply thins his eyes at Tim in a manner that he hopes reads as _step off_.

Tim puts his hands up. “Alright, so—the Archivist _and_ his plus one. Interesting.”

Jon really needs to lock Georgie down for this event.

* * *

“What do you _mean_ you’re already going?” Jon is regretting the moment he introduced Melanie and Georgie to one another immensely, though part of him is mildly pleased that the two of them are finding some kind of happiness together.

“Melanie asked me weeks ago, Jon. She _is_ my _girlfriend,_ ” Georgie reminds Jon. “I’m not about to go to that stupid holiday party with anyone else.” She pauses. “Anyway, Mel was telling me you already had a hot date. Why are you asking me?”

“Oh, you know,” Jon says, the lies coming fast now, “just wanted to check if you’d gotten an invite.”

“For a second there, I thought you were asking me out,” Georgie laughs. Jon feels a little hollow inside at the amusement in her voice. 

“No! No,” Jon demurs. “Definitely not that.”

Plan B it is, then.

* * *

Jon slips into incognito mode on his laptop at home before chancing his first risky Google search: _find a date_.

Which of course immediately sends him into a vat of pornographic hell that Jon clicks out of immediately. “Good lord,” he mutters at his now blank laptop. Google blinks back at him serenely, as if the computer screen had not been blasting Jon with _hot singles in his area_ and various naked bits just a moment before.

Two hours of tentative searching later, Jon finds a site that seems more up his alley in terms of what exactly he is looking for, date-wise.

_Welcome to Never Fear, the internet’s fastest and most reliable online holiday escort service. Sign up now for our free seven day trial period!_

Jon signs up immediately. He uses a fake name and a burner email address, but he fills out his profile dutifully. “Likes: books,” Jon mutters under his breath. “Asterisk— _some_ books.” Jon thinks of the Leitners in the Institute’s possession and shudders a little bit. Jon goes back and forth about being upfront in regards to his sexuality, and he ends up clicking the tiny tick-box that reads “asexual.” Easy enough. Now his prospective dates won’t get the wrong idea about the kinds of services he’ll need.

Once he’s done filling out his profile, Jon delves into his...options. He puts on a few filters: gender—all, price—low to medium, distance—thirty miles. He puts in the holiday party date as _must be available for_ and hits search. Over one hundred users pop up.

There’s one profile with the username Michael S. who boasts about his “very long and capable fingers.” His profile shows his face and a shock of long, blond hair that Jon considers for a brief moment before deciding that this Michael character gives him a bit of a bad vibe.

Jon scrolls through at least twenty more profiles without anyone truly catching his eye. Sure, they are all beautiful people: some with white smiles, some with clearly too much time in the gym. Jon thinks quietly to himself that this date has to be _believable_. Someone who Jon could actually be in a relationship with. Someone who could put up with his devotion to his work, and someone who Jon could put up with in turn.

So when PoeticSoul pops up on his screen, Jon immediately scrolls past.

It’s not that Jon isn’t into poetry, he has just found that people who tend to proclaim their unending devotion to the poetic form tend to be a bit much to deal with.

It’s only when Jon is about to click forward to page seven that he pauses and scrolls back up. PoeticSoul’s profile looks back at him with a profile picture that features a round-faced, smiling man beaming back at him.

“Well, he seems non-threatening,” Jon muses before clicking.

* * *

Jon thinks his first email to PoeticSoul is rather to the point.

_Dear PoeticSoul (if that is your real name),_

_Hello. I’ve never done this before, so I’m not quite sure how it goes but—I need a date for Friday, December 21st. My work is hosting a holiday party and for the past three years, I have gone alone. Which has been_ fine _, really, until my colleagues began making rather unseemly comments_ . _And my boss—well, if you come with me, I’m sure you’ll gather Elias’s character when you meet him. He’s a bit...unsettling, and I’d rather have someone there as a bit of a buffer._

_As stated in my profile, this is not a sex thing—to be clear. I need you to be my boyfriend. Just for one night._

_Let me know about the cost. I do hope you’re worth whatever exorbitant fee you’re charging._

_Jon_

Jon closes his laptop immediately after he hits send and does not open it again for the next two days.

* * *

_Dear Jon,_

_You have no idea how many prospective clients start their emails with the, “I’ve never done this before,” bit. A classic!_

_My name is Martin, and I am indeed available for the 21st. Your boss sounds like a right prick._

_I offer other packages as well (including: Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby, Friends With Benefits, Boss and Underling), but this one seems like the one you’re most looking for. If I’ve got it wrong, then please just let me know and we can adjust accordingly._

_My fee is fifty an hour for the traditional “boyfriend experience,” meaning—I come up with an excellent backstory for the two of us, I tell your coworkers how in love we are, and all in all we act very couple-y._

_Hopefully you don’t find that_ exorbitant _._

_Also, if you read the attached pdf, you’ll find our contract which delineates in detail how much this is not a sex thing. Heaven forbid anyone get the wrong idea._

_Cheers,_

_Martin_

“What the hell is a sugar daddy?” Jon says out loud as Tim walks into his office.

“Now _that_ is a statement I’d love to read,” Tim crows. He tries looking over Jon’s shoulder while Jon quickly shuts his laptop.

“Anything you need from me, Tim?” Jon asks tightly.

“Just wanted to get the name of your plus one,” Tim grins. “For the holiday party, I mean. Melanie’s making placards and all.”

Jon hasn’t even decided if he’s going to sign whatever contract Martin had attached to his email, but Jon finds himself saying, “His name is Martin and we’re very happy together, thank you.”

Tim’s eyes widen. “Okay, then. Martin it is.”

* * *

Part of the website’s contract requires a pre-emptive meet and greet before the actual event—a safety measure so that escorts from the agency can suss out in the broad light of day if their client is going to say, conduct brutal pipe murder upon them.

“Do you actually like poetry?” is the first thing Jon asks when he spots Martin at the predetermined meet up location, one of the local coffee shops at a decent distance from the Magnus Institute.

Martin in person is—well, Jon should have supposed that people who do this sort of business for their work know how to flaunt themselves. Some must show a little leg or wear a shirt tight enough to see biceps through. At least that’s how Jon assumes honeypots _work_. He really should ask Tim about what he does at the precinct some time.

So it’s due to a power beyond himself that Jon just sort of _melts_ when he sees Martin for the first time in person.

Martin is wearing a dark green sweater that looks luxurious to the touch and is clearly the most expensive item on his person, considering that his khakis are a bit worn in the knees and his dress shoes have scuff marks all over. Perhaps a gift from a kindly benefactor, or a sugar daddy, as Tim had so painstakingly laid out in his office a few days earlier.

“Yeah, I’m big on those anthologies,” Martin grins, standing up to greet Jon. Jon goes for a handshake and Martin dives in for a brief hug. It turns out the sweater really is soft to the touch, and Jon lingers while Martin squeezes him tight. “So,” Martin says quietly, pulling away, “you don’t seem like the murdering type. Which is good news for our holiday plans.”

Jon sits down across from martin at a corner table while Martin looks him over. “Though you do have some interesting scars for an academic.”

Jon pulls down his sleeves gingerly. The worms had indeed left their marks. “We deal with some...peculiarities at the Institute,” Jon defers.

Martin grins while he sips his coffee. There is something about him that Jon finds incredibly domestic, and Jon thinks—holy shit, he really is selling the whole boyfriend experience right from the get-go.

“Your reviews were good,” Jon offers the silence in between them. “User PLukas really seemed to like you. _Makes you feel like the only person in the room_. That’s high praise.”

“Thanks,” Martin says gingerly. “I like to think generally that I offer a good time.” Martin blushes deeply as Jon’s eyebrow raises rather curiously.

“I did read your emails thoroughly,” Jon nods as Martin splutters. “I thought you weren’t about that sort of thing.”

“I’m not! We’re not,” Martin says hastily, “that sort of company, generally. No hands below the belt, just a good, wholesome escort. Date for hire. That sort of thing.”

It’s honestly a great act, Martin getting flustered at the idea of sexual innuendo, considering his line of work. Makes him seem pure and wholesome, which Jon is sure attracts a certain type of customer. In Jon’s case, Martin is the perfect stand in.

“From my end, I think you’ll work great for what I have in mind,” Jon adds. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Martin thins his eyes at Jon. “What’s going on with your boss? You got a bit weird about it in your emails.” Jon sinks down into his chair while Martin leans in. “Am I some kind of get back at the boss you’re a bit attracted to sort of deal? Because that’s fine, but I’d just like to know how to play it—”

“ _No_ ,” Jon hisses. “No, it is not that at _all_. He is overbearing and _extremely_ unsettling and quite frankly might have a thing for me, which is something I hope to _never unpack_. Which is part of why I need you there as a buffer.”

Martin shrugs his shoulders, unconvinced. “Surely you have some friend who could protect your honor—”

“I really don’t. Look, I just need to show my coworkers that I’m not some mindless workhorse and that I have some kind of social life!” Jon spits out.

“Because you _are_ a mindless workhorse with no social life,” Martin finishes.

Jon looks up at Martin weakly from his tea. “Yes. Now that I’ve fully embarrassed myself, will you take the job?”

Martin smiles. “What should I wear?”

* * *

Martin arrives at Jon’s place of work fifteen minutes early, and the two of them rehash their backstory quickly before heading inside. “You overheard some of my poetry at a late night slam and had to know who—” Martin starts with a grin, before Jon interrupts.

“Who was writing the kind of word atrocities that get you banned from poetry slams,” Jon finishes.

“Fifty an hour,” Martin quietly reminds himself with a deep inhalation. “You know, my poetry is actually _good_ —”

“Fifty an hour,” Jon reminds him. “I get to have my own opinions on your poetry.”

“You’re a bad boyfriend,” Martin says, poking Jon in the side before sliding an arm around Jon’s middle. It’s the first time they’ve touched like this, and Jon is a bit unnerved. “And _that’s_ exactly why I did that out here, you look like you just swallowed a worm.”

“I don’t have to be a good boyfriend, I’m not being _paid_ to be a good boyfriend,” Jon tells Martin frankly as he tries to get a little less weird about intimate touches with a stranger.

“I see, so I’m the ever-suffering fool who fell for an idiot who won’t even lie to his boyfriend about the quality of his poetry,” Martin grins, leading Jon inside the Institute. “Clever character building, I like it.”

Jon feels a strange warmth in his chest at Martin’s fond tone. Obviously he knows it’s all a charade, but still—Martin is very, very good at his job. It’s called the _boyfriend experience_ for a reason, and it’s been a long time since Jon felt cared for, fake or otherwise.

Honestly, Jon cannot remember the last time someone touched him gently. In a gesture that Jon isn’t sure he thinks through consciously, he covers Martin’s hand with his own.

“Better,” Martin praises in his ear, soft and reassuring.

“Jon! You made it,” Melanie beams, bringing Georgie in close so that the four of them can all have a chat. “And this must be Martin. Pleasure.”

“Well, you’re batting out of your league,” Tim tells Jon as he and Martin approach the bar. Martin flushes from the tips of the ears through his cheeks. Apparently Tim has been stationed here for a bit, judging by the empty glasses that surround him. “But really, it’s a wonder anyone would put up with your nonsense.”

“Why thank you, Tim,” Jon mutters. “It’s really a wonder we don’t hang out outside of work more often.”

Tim’s date, an officer from the precinct he introduces as, “Lieutenant White,” has drawn Martin into what looks to be a heated conversation about God knows what.

“I didn’t believe that you’d actually bring him,” Tim confides in Jon. “But good on you for having a bit of a normal life outside all this—” Tim waves at the Institute as if to say, _outside all this insanity_.

Jon shrugs. It doesn’t exactly feel _good_ to have Tim underline the truth of the matter: that Jon’s life really is in shambles, and that beyond tonight, he doesn't have a normal life outside work. Not in the slightest.

At least Martin can help him keep up appearances.

“Jon,” a smooth voice interrupts. “ _So_ pleased you came.” Elias Bouchard looks put together as always. The dress code, which had been listed by Melanie as _holiday festive_ , has not deterred Elias from his usual outfit: a perfectly tailored suit and an eye for Jon, his pet project.

Elias puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder, and Jon cannot help but compare the two touches he’d received today. Where Martin’s hand had been soft and teasing, Elias’s grip is icy and inflexible.

“Jon’s brought his boyfriend!” Tim tells Elias delightedly. “So hands off the merchandise, there.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jon says tightly, eyes darting over to Martin. Jon does his best to shrug Elias off him.

Elias looks over at Martin as well. “Boyfriend? Really?” he asks with a smile. “Well. I hope he’s enjoying the _experience_.” For a second, Jon is _certain_ that Elias knows the entire ruse: knows that Jon has paid for Martin’s time, knows that Jon is actually quite terribly alone, knows that at the end of the night Jon is still as alone as he was before.

“Hello,” Martin says icily, sliding his arm around Jon’s waist and pulling him back from Elias. “You are?”

“Elias Bouchard,” Elias says primly, shaking Martin’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you. From a variety of sources,” he adds, raising an eyebrow at Martin, who has paled remarkably. Elias has that effect on most people, Jon thinks.

“That’s Elias Bouchard?” Martin whispers tightly once Elias has stepped away. “ _That’s_ your creepy boss?”

“If you’re going to tell me to suck it up and just give into his wiles because he’s, I don’t know, _hot_ , I swear—” Jon starts, but Martin shakes his head vehemently.

“Definitely don’t do that” Martin says darkly. “I have a variety of NDAs involved with my clientele, but—he’s bad news, Jon.”

Jon looks at Martin incredulously. “Is he one of your clients?” There’s just a hint of _compel_ in Jon’s question. Jon feels a little bad about forcing the answer, but he has to know.

“ _No_. Good lord, no,” Martin blurts out immediately before covering his mouth with his hand. “Bloody hell. I shouldn’t have said that, and I really can’t say anything beyond that.”

“Yes, that is Elias, my boss. He has an uncanny eye for sussing out the truth,” Jon mutters. 

“Do you think he bought our cover story?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know,” Jon says with a sigh.

Martin purses his lips. “Come on, let’s go see what the rest of this lot is up to.”

Sasha is waving them down ahead by the coat rack, and Jon figures that near the coats means near the exit, so he agrees to follow Martin forward. Which is how Jon and Martin find themselves under a doorway bedecked by mistletoe.

“Sorry,” Sasha says sweetly, ducking out of the way. “Tim’s a force of nature with this sort of thing, really wanted a show of you two.”

“ _Kiss_ ,” Tim bellows from the stairway nearby. He is pointing at the two of them with some kind of garland and is clearly three sheets to the wind. “Christmas commands it.”

Martin takes Jon’s hand and squeezes it tightly.

“Stop being ridiculous,” Jon says hastily. “It’s just a mistletoe. There are no _laws_ that dictate—”

“It’s tradition and you’re going to kiss,” Tim tells him matter of factly. “Or do you even _like_ your boyfriend?”

Martin tugs Jon into a hug before whispering into his ear, “It’s alright. You know, if you’re alright with it.”

Martin pulls back to stare at Jon before Jon puts one very, very tentative hand on Martin’s cheek.

“I didn’t realize this was part of the boyfriend experience,” Jon mutters. He can feel Martin’s breath across his lips, skittish but amused.

“I’m flexible,” Martin shrugs before leaning forward and kissing Jon soundly.

Jon’s last good kiss had been _Georgie_ , and that’s a bit sad, truth be told. Georgie had been a nice kisser, but she kissed like each kiss was leading to something _else_. Something with less clothes and more hands. It wasn’t her _fault_ , exactly, that she thought the kissing would lead to that sort of thing. Jon was still in university when he and Georgie had their moment and he’d still been very much figuring out the spectrum of his asexuality. He’d never really had to have _the chat_ with a romantic partner before—the _yes I’m in love with you, no I don’t want to have sex all that much_ chat—and Jon knows for a fact that he was Georgie’s first serious relationship. Neither of them were really very good at talking about their feelings.

In comparison (and Jon _hates_ to judge in comparison, but he will, because he’s not a very good person), Martin is a very good kisser. And while Georgie kissed Jon like they were about to dive into bed right then and there, Martin has no ulterior motive and kisses like it. Jon _knows_ that the contract states no sexual misbehavior. This kiss is going no where. This kiss is just a nice moment in front of a bunch of pushy work colleagues. This kiss—

Martin releases a little, breathy sigh into Jon’s mouth and Jon melts, just a bit.

This kiss is quite nice, actually.

Somewhere in the background, Tim gives a loud wolf whistle. Jon flips him off before daring to bring Martin in closer, cradling his head gently. When Jon finally pulls back from Martin and rests his forehead gently against Martin’s, Jon is in a bit of a daze.

“Well,” Martin huffs out lightly. There is color on his cheeks, pink and lovely. “It’s certainly not your kissing technique holding you back, Mr. Sims.”

* * *

“That’s everything,” Jon says, handing over the bills quickly. He’s added a discrete tip, for dealing with Elias’s nonsense and the minor compelling. Another hundred extra for the kiss, which was not exactly part of the contract. Martin just pockets the money quickly without counting. It’s a trusting gesture that Jon appreciates.

“Thank you,” Martin says with a smile. “I had a really good time.”

“Maybe we can do this again sometime,” Jon offers weakly. He’s not quite sure what to say at the end of this _not date_. He’s not sure if there’s some kind of escort etiquette he’s missing.

Martin laughs, the sound itself slightly hollow. “Well, you know where to find my profile.”

Jon watches Martin walk down into the metro station and wonders if he’s missing something.

* * *

Jon leaves an excellent review.

_Five stars. Got along well with my coworkers. Went above and beyond to make the night go smoothly. Would recommend highly._

  
  


* * *

“What do you mean, _team potluck_?” Jon asks, aghast. 

“It’s for _morale building_ ,” Tim scoffs. “Which I’m sure you’ll agree we all need after working in this hell-scape.”

“You can bring Martin!” Melanie suggests. “He was telling me about one of his recipes at the holiday party.”

* * *

_Please tell me you’re available for January 17th. There’s some work potluck that my coworkers are dying to see you at. — Jon_

_I have someone who usually has me booked on Thursday evenings, but I’ll ask if we can move things around to accommodate your plight. — Martin_

* * *

“I am seriously in your debt,” Jon murmurs to Martin as he lets Martin inside Tim’s apartment. “Thank you so much for coming.”

Martin waves from the foyer to the crowd in Tim’s living room. “Cheers, everyone!” He then looks up at Jon with a shared secret in his eyes. “It’s no problem, really.”

“I’m glad you were able to move your other client,” Jon whispers discreetly while hanging up Martin’s coat.

Martin reaches out and takes Jon’s hand in his own. It’s still a bit cold from the frigid weather outside. “It’s alright. I told the home that they’d have to adjust the visiting hours for my mum. They’re usually pretty good with things like that. Plus, I don’t think she really wanted to see me today.”

Jon’s eyebrows raise of their own accord. “Wait. Your steady appointment on Thursdays is your _mum?_ ”

Martin looks embarrassed. “Yes, well. I’m not exactly in this business for my own health.” It’s a sentence that Jon does not know how to parse in the slightest, but before he can ask Martin what exactly he means by that, Georgie is waving Martin over to the couch.

Martin is far better liked than Jon is amongst his own work colleagues, which does not shock or surprise Jon. Where Jon is cold and analytical, Martin is warm and friendly. Martin knows the names of Basira’s childhood pets, has FaceTimed with Tim’s latest paramour about getting tea some time, and cooed about The Admiral with Georgie.

The Admiral was _Jon’s_ cat first, Jon will have you know. But he doesn’t blame the cat for picking Georgie in the end. He doesn’t blame most people for picking _not Jon_ in the end.

Eventually Jon settles into the corner of the couch with a cup of something that is steaming and smells faintly of bourbon. When Martin scoots in close to sit next to Jon, Jon finds himself calmed.

“Your friends are nice,” Martin says, reaching over to take a sip of Jon’s drink. “Good lord, what is that?”

“Tim made it,” Jon shrugs, taking back the mug. “It’s...disgusting. But oddly warming.”

Martin snuggles against Jon’s chest. Jon can’t help as the smallest smile creeps over his expression. “Yeah, alright. I’ll give it that.”

Georgie drags Jon into the kitchen towards the end of the night. Georgie is very tipsy, and Jon for his part is less than sober. For her part, she looks rather rosy and beautiful. Jon has always liked that about her in the wintertime. 

“That one,” Georgie slurs, pointing at Martin in the kitchen. “A keeper, Jon. You _have_ to know.”

A little part of Jon’s heart dies as he listens to Georgie go _on_ and _on_ about how great he and Martin are as a couple. If she only knew how much money Martin was making tonight. “He’s worth it,” Jon shrugs.

“Lock it down,” Georgie says, putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “He seems to—to get you.” _More than I ever did_ , are the words she leaves unsaid. She doesn’t need to say them.

“Thanks, Georgie,” Jon says weakly.

* * *

“Sorry for the short notice this time around,” Jon apologizes as the two of them leave Tim’s apartment. He hands Martin the envelope with his cash payment as soon as they are around the corner from the party.

“It’s alright,” Martin shrugs. “I had a really lovely time, truthfully.”

Martin is looking at Jon with an inscrutable expression on his face. “What?” Jon asks.

“You can call me, you know,” Martin blurts out.

Jon is very confused. “You know I don’t have your phone number,” Jon tells Martin. He has only ever contacted Martin via the online website.

Martin puts out his hand for Jon’s phone and makes quick work of putting in his phone number.

“Is this a new service you’re offering?” Jon asks, confusion coloring every word.

“What? No,” Martin squawks. “I’m just saying I had a good time and you can call me. Whenever you like, really.”

Jon doesn’t understand what this means. Is Martin trying to gain more money from Jon’s already dwindling bank account? Jon is certain that Martin has other customers he can better extort.

Jon narrows his eyes at Martin. “Do I at least get a discount? As a repeat customer?”

Martin rolls his eyes at Jon. “Texting is free, Jon. Good night.”

* * *

_Work is the worst. Getting dragged to an awful dinner party tonight. What’s going on with you?_

_Doing a bit of travel for the Institute. Supremely jet lagged._

_That shocks me a bit. You sleep?_

_Ha ha. Sometimes._

Jon is still smiling when Elias barges into his office. “You’re in a good mood. Excellent. I need your assistance next week. There’s a conference we will both need to attend. The Usher Foundation—our American counterpart—is cosponsoring the event.”

“Can I say no to an evening on the town with you?” Jon asks delicately.

“It’s for _work_ , Jonathan. Don’t be silly,” Elias drawls, but there’s a glint in Elias's eye that tells Jon that he’s just made a really, really bad deal.

_Can I see you again soon?_

_You free tomorrow?_

_I am free, but I have The Admiral as Georgie’s staying at Melanie’s place for a bit. Hope you don’t mind cats._

_I LOVE cats!!_

* * *

“Oh, he’s a _delight,_ ” Martin sighs as The Admiral curls up directly in Martin’s lap.

“I think the feeling’s mutual,” Jon says as The Admiral begins to purr happily against Martin's belly.

Jon doesn’t know when they end up on the couch together. It’s somewhere in between Martin suggesting they watch whatever quiz show is on and Jon waking up with a face full of Martin’s sweater. He must have fallen asleep face first into Martin’s stomach. Martin is scratching at the back of Jon’s head with gentle petting motions that Jon arches into.

“That’s really lovely,” Jon mumbles. Martin’s fingers are strong and gentle in their ministrations. It feels so, so nice. Too nice. Nicer than he deserves. Jon clears his throat, sticky with sleep. “Thank you.”

“You look a little less dead,” Martin says with a smile. “So I think I did my job.”

“You’re certainly very good at your job,” Jon tells him before sitting up slightly. The couch has created some kind of deep dip where the two of them are cuddled up, so Jon’s attempt at getting out of Martin’s embrace doesn’t go according to plan.

An uneasy silence settles between them and Jon knows, inexorably, that he’s said the wrong thing. So instead he goes towards another topic. “How’s your mum?”

Martin stiffens a bit as Jon looks up at him on the couch. “She’s not very well.”

“Has it been like that for a long while?” Jon asks. On a strange whim, he takes Martin’s hand. It’s a bit sweaty.

“I left school to take care of her,” Martin reveals. “My dad is out of the picture and my mum doesn’t have anybody else. It’s a decision I’d make again. Twice.” Martin makes a face, clearly trying to remember something. “It’s been about twelve years since then? Since I’m twenty-nine now.”

Jon’s eyes widen. “You’re a baby.”

Martin rolls his eyes. “Why, how old are you?”

“Thirty-two,” Jon tells him. Martin shrugs at the age difference.

Martin barks out a laugh. “Okay, you don’t get to call me a baby when _you’re_ also a baby. Especially in the academic world, it's—honestly rather impressive you're head of anything at this age.”

Martin settles into the conversation, tells Jon about what he sacrificed to keep his mum in decent care. “It’s actually how I ended up in the escort business,” Martin reveals. “It pays well, and the home I finally moved her into doesn’t mind taking cash.”

“Does she like it there?” Jon asks.

“She’s the one who asked to move in there,” Martin says a little darkly. “It costs a lot to keep her there, but if it’s about her dignity—not wanting her son to clean her up and the like—well, it’s worth it. And my clients help with the expenses.”

Jon doesn’t know what he’s doing when he brings Martin’s hand to his mouth. All he wants to show is that Martin isn’t alone in here, that Jon is right there with him. Sure, Jon is used to have strangers be vulnerable with him. But this is _Martin_. And maybe he’s a stranger, but he’s also something more. So Jon kisses the skin of Martin’s wrist very, very gently.

“You’re a good son,” Jon tells him.

“I don’t know about that,” Martin says. “What would you think if your child started doing sex work?”

Jon kisses Martin’s palm this time. “I think I’d be proud of a son who would do whatever it takes to keep me safe and comfortable.” Martin threads his fingers into Jon’s hair, which has grown shaggier since their last real date. “And I would feel guilty for stealing his youth from him.”

Martin’s eyes look glassy. “She couldn’t help it.”

Jon takes Martin’s face in both his hands. For a moment, they can both pretend this relationship is real. It’s been a long time since Jon has provided emotional support to someone else. In a lot of ways, Jon doesn’t feel very qualified to do so.

“Doesn’t mean it was fair,” Jon tells Martin. Martin's expression breaks a bit, and Jon doesn't quite know what to do besides hold on tight.

“Can you kiss me, please?” Martin asks with a loud sniff. “Because either you kiss me or I’ll start crying about my mum, and I think we can both agree about the better option here.”

Jon acquiesces. It’s a simple request, a sweet salve for a long and bitter hurt.

“Jon,” Martin sighs into Jon’s embrace. “I need to tell you—”

“I know,” Jon murmurs. “We haven’t gone over a fee yet.”

Martin quiets beneath Jon. He pushes Jon away, still gentle in his movements. “Consider that on the house.”

Martin leaves fairly quickly after that. The Admiral looks at Jon once Martin is gone with a _particularly_ peeved expression on his feline face.

“I know,” Jon says, putting his hands up. “Absolutely and totally my fault. I think.”

Jon isn't used to all this pretending. When he starts having feelings for someone, they can come on rather strong. This situation—where Martin both is and isn't quite his boyfriend—is just not working for Jon. And yet he is so far away from wanting to end things with Martin that it gives Jon actual physical pain to think about cancelling his website subscription. 

* * *

_Sorry about the other day. Things got a bit weird and I just wanted to say that I’m an idiot. So I’m sorry—for whatever I did wrong._

_You really are an idiot._

_It’s alright. :)_

* * *

Martin keeps coming over, and Jon stops asking about how much it’s going to cost him. He assumes Martin is racking up some kind of insane credit on Jon’s account, but somehow Jon never gets a call from the bank that he’s overdrafted.

The time they spend together is _good_. Martin acts like a boyfriend should, and Jon does the same in turn. Eventually they have the _how sex averse are you_ discussion—the answer being, mostly, but willing to slowly explore with a trusted partner—which is certainly a step that Jon never expected to take.

The two of them keep stuff mostly above the belt, which Jon appreciates and Martin doesn’t seem to resent at all—which is a new and different feeling than those he’s had in relationships before. 

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Jon asks for the seven hundredth time.

“I think the whole point is that _you_ mind,” Martin says lightly. “And weirdly, I care about that.”

“You’re very strange,” Jon says fondly before kissing Martin on the cheek.

They see each other a few nights a week, generally. Jon continues his work at the Institute and Martin has nights where he can’t come over for business related reasons. Jon tries not to think too hard about what Martin is doing, exactly, on the nights when he doesn’t come home.

* * *

“It shouldn’t take very long to get the point across,” Elias tells Jon under his breath as they enter the Usher Foundation’s lavish dinner party. Elias is finally making good on Jon's promise to attend this dinner function, and Jon is planning on making his appearance at said function as short and sweet as possible.

“The point being?” Jon asks, handing his coat to the front desk.

“That the Magnus Institute is far superior,” Elias informs him.

“If you wanted to assert a superiority complex, Elias, I’m sure that’s a feat you could have accomplished well enough without dragging me into it,” Jon hisses.

“But where’s the fun in showing off my prized Archivist, then?” Elias grins, tugging Jon by the arm to introduce him to heavily mustachioed man with a deeply American Southern accent.

Jon is about an hour into being toured around as some kind of weird prize when he spots a very familiar face. “What?” Jon says, because it’s the only word that comes to him.

Martin is standing next to a rather tall, imposing figure in a thick, knit sweater. He looks maybe fifty or sixty years old, and he has his hand on the back of Martin’s neck. It’s a predatory gesture, one that implies ownership. Martin has an odd expression on his face—his eyes are hooded and his lips gently parted.

“Oh, isn’t that—” Elias starts. His smile is wide.

“Shut up,” Jon hisses.

Elias just beams at Jon, like the cat that’s finally caught the canary. “But Jon, you know it’s just work for him.” For a second, Jon lets out a deep breath. Of course this is just work for Martin. What they have—what Jon and Martin have—it’s different. “I understand you wanted to prove your little friends at the Institute wrong, but honestly, Jonathan. You shouldn’t let yourself get so tangled. Not with someone who’s just pretending.” He runs a hand down Jon's back. "I'm sure he was very good at telling you what you wanted to hear."

The client pulls Martin towards a couch and Martin follows, sliding easily into his lap. Jon can’t look anymore, but Elias has other ideas.

“Peter,” Elias says warmly as he pulls Jon towards the couple in question. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“You invited me, Elias,” Peter intones. "So I don't think it should be such a surprise."

“Did I?” Elias muses.

But Jon isn’t looking at what appears to be some kind of lovers quarrel between Peter and Elias. No, all he can do is look at Martin, who looks like a struggling butterfly with its wings pinned against a board. Martin stands up.

“I’ll see you at the Institute,” Jon says gruffly to Elias before stomping off.

“Jon,” Martin calls as Jon walks briskly away. "Jon, wait—"

Jon feels humiliated. Who has he been kidding, developing feelings for someone like Martin? Was he truly a damn fool?

“This is my job, Jon,” is how Martin starts when he finally catches up with Jon, slightly out of breath. “You're acting ridiculous. You know that Peter is part of my job.”

“What is that?” Jon asks, looking at Martin’s neck. A few dark bruises are poorly hidden beneath his collar. Martin claps his hand at his neck to cover the hickey's up. “I thought—you said this was more of a hands off sort of gig.”

“Occupational hazard," Martin jokes. When Jon doesn't smile, Martin's expression fades into one full of shame. "He has a different kind of contract,” Martin adds tightly. “It pays well.”

“I’m sure it does,” Jon says viciously.

“Don’t you dare mock me,” Martin hisses. "You know exactly why I'm doing this. You of _all people_ , Jon. You _know—_ "

“What am I to you?” Jon asks. He doesn’t need to try to compel the answer, the power is already in his words.

“You’re Jon,” Martin says simply. “The same Jon who refuses to see me as anything besides my work. Who thinks that he needs to pay for all my time. Who thinks—” Martin cuts himself off.

“Well, what _are_ you besides your work,” Jon says bitterly, and it’s _so_ the wrong thing to say that Martin looks like he’s been slapped. “Martin, wait—”

“Go home, Jon,” Martin says softly.

Martin turns around and walks back into the party and Jon just—lets him leave. It’s not Jon’s proudest moment.

* * *

Jon creates and deletes a series of similar text messages, all of which are something along the following lines: _I overstepped. I know this is your job. I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just not meant to dabble in this sort of thing._

About two weeks later, Jon finally sends the message. He gets no reply from Martin, which Jon supposes is fair.

The next time Tim asks Jon about Martin, Jon says simply, “We broke up.” The lie is easier than the truth of the matter, though it still feels raw on his tongue.

“Terrible luck, Jon,” Tim commiserates. “He really seemed to like you.”

Another month passes without contact. Jon goes on the escort site and finds that Martin’s profile is completely booked under the same username for the next three months: _PLukas_.

Jon takes out his phone and types out a quick message.

_Hope you’re okay._

* * *

“He was in a right state at the funeral,” Jon overhears Melanie whisper to Basira, who herself looks mostly nonplussed.

“I think he’s allowed to be in a right state if his mum’s died,” Basira points out.

Jon stiffens. _What?_ Martin's mother is dead?

“Poor Martin,” Melanie sighs. “Plus all that nonsense with Jon. I do _not_ get how Jon screwed that one up, really. Martin’s such a sweet fellow.” Melanie frowns and thinks for a minute. "Actually, I can see exactly how Jon screwed that one up. What a colossal waste."

Jon calls Martin seventeen times before finally resorting to text message.

_Where are you? Send me your location._

Five minutes later, a little _ping_ on Jon’s phone reveals a small dot on a map.

“Why is he at the beach?” Jon asks softly before running out the door of the Institute.

* * *

The beach itself is not hard to find, but Martin himself takes some time to track down. Jon walks for what feels like a few miles along the shore before seeing a spot in the distance that very well could be the man in question. As Jon gets closer, he can see that Martin is sitting in the sand, staring out at the sea. He looks empty, like whatever life that used to fill him got used up en route to this spot. Jon's been there before, when his parents had passed, and then when his grandmother had followed. He knows what it's like to feel alone.

Jon sits down in the sand next to Martin. The ocean crashes around them, a dull roar that fades into the background noise, the smell of brine and salt everywhere. It's peaceful, in a strange, desolate way.

“Martin, I heard what happened,” Jon says softly. “God, I’m so sorry about your mum.”

Jon threads his hand with Martin's. Martin doesn't fight back, doesn't do anything. He allows the touch, and Jon decides it is a victory.

“Why did you come here?” Martin asks blankly. It's a good question. There is nothing tying the two of them together. Jon has paid for his boyfriend experience, and Martin—Martin deserves so much more. But the only person here is Jon, and Jon will not let himself leave this beach without Martin in tow.

“This is a bit off the beaten path for you,” Jon says lamely. “I thought you might have gotten lost.”

“I’ve imagined you coming to find me so many times over the past few weeks,” Martin admits quietly. Surprise rattles Jon. The fact that Martin thought about him is...confusing, but hopeful. “Are you really here?”

“Yes,” Jon tells him vehemently. He squeezes Martin's hand. “Yes, I'm here. Come on, let’s get inside. Get warm.”

Martin’s eyes are bloodshot but blank when they finally turn to face Jon. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere," he says softly. The emptiness in his voice breaks Jon's heart. "Nothing hurts here. It’s just quiet.”

“Listen to me,” Jon tells Martin gently. He threads the _compel_ into his words as gently as he can. “I know you think you want to stay here, but you can’t.”

“Why not?” Martin asks. It feels like he's asking for so much with a such a short question. It feels like he wants a reason to live.

So Jon takes Martin by the face and turns him so that he cannot look away. “Because I need you.”

Maybe that is reason enough. Jon hopes it is, or at least, he hopes that that is enough to shake Martin from his grief. He still has a cranky archivist to deal with. Martin cannot give up that easily.

"Maybe that's selfish, but it's the truth," Jon adds.

Martin’s eyes begin to flood with tears, and Jon realizes that some kind of wall has broken down within Martin's heart. He gathers Martin into his arms and feels as Martin's breath catches in his throat.

“I think I might want to stop the business,” Martin whispers to Jon, just audible over the crashing waves. “I’d been doing it to make some extra money for mum, but now—” His breath catches, and Jon doesn’t let go. “And I don’t want to deal with Peter or any of that lot anymore.”

“Okay,” Jon says simply. “We’ll get you out.”

"We?" Martin asks.

"We," Jon affirms.

Martin deserves a life untethered from the responsibility of caring for the sick and dying. He deserves a whole hell of a lot more than crying on a beach alone.

Martin stands up with Jon’s help. He wipes his face with his sleeves. “I was alone,” he tells Jon.

Jon gathers Martin in his arms and hopes that his following words explain his fullness of heart. Jon’s not sure he can be more clear than this, and perhaps that’s just a fault he’ll never overcome. Regardless, when Jon tells Martin, “ _not anymore_ ,” Martin seems to understand.

* * *

Martin deletes his profile from the escort website that night.

“Maybe I can come work at the Magnus Institute,” Martin jokes, and Jon chokes on his biscuit.

“Absolutely not,” Jon says with a cough. “That’s a terrible idea. It’s a place full of horror and paperwork.”

“Alright, alright,” Martin agrees. "It was just a suggestion." Martin closes Jon’s laptop with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I think I need a holiday. How do the Scottish Highlands sound?”

“You know,” Jon muses out loud. “That sounds really, really nice.”

“So you’ll come with?” Martin asks. 

“I think so,” Jon nods.

Martin beams at him.

* * *

The Highlands cabin is quiet and miles away from the nearest town. 

“There are more cows in this place than people,” the elderly woman who runs the bed and breakfast down the road tells them as they pass through.

“It’s perfect,” Martin hums under his breath. He’s tucked under a plaid blanket with Jon as they laze about in front of a crackling fire. It’s one of the more luxurious moments in Jon’s life that he can remember. The gentle feeling of Martin at his side, the smell of wood burning—it's all from a life that Jon has never deserved. And yet here Jon is. Perhaps Jon is simply used to the tragedy of his life that having one good thing is throwing him for a bit of a loop. “Thank you,” Martin adds.

“For what?” Jon asks.

“For coming with me to Scotland," Martin shrugs. "For being there for me when my life went sideways." 

“Scotland seemed nice this time of year,” Jon jokes. Martin pokes him in the side and Jon winces. "Where else would I be, Martin?"

“How was I not supposed to catch feelings, you insufferable fool?" Martin sighs in exasperation. "You know, I thought you were cute straight away.”

"Straight away?" Jon asks, impressed. "Didn't realize I was such a catch."

"You were _such_ an idiot online," Martin crows. "That _email_ , I swear. I almost deleted your request.”

“I think we both know my etiquette is not the most wonderful,” Jon agrees.

“But then I met you. And you were _funny_ ,” Martin adds. “Rather awful at keeping up appearances, but I didn't mind much because you were sweet and treated me kindly. I'm usually much better at putting my feelings aside, and God, I've never—not _once_ —given out my personal phone number to a client."

"Not very professional," Jon nods.

"At _all_ ," Martin agrees. "But I had feelings. _Have_ feelings. And I realized that maybe you felt that way too.”

Jon traces random patterns on Martin’s back. “A good guess.”

Martin groans, burying his face in their shared blanket. "It's hard work, this real relationship business." He looks up at Jon, fully red in the face. “So now that I’ve fully embarrassed myself, will you take the job?”

Jon snorts. “Are you asking if I will _date_ _you?_ Now?”

Martin makes a face. “More like, will you be my real boyfriend." He presses a kiss against Jon's arm. "No more pretending.”

Jon leans down to kiss him plainly before breaking into a smile. “It’s fifty an hour. I honestly don’t know how you’re going to afford it.”

They laugh in each other's arms for a long moment.

“Was that a _joke_ , Jon?” Martin asks incredulously.

“What, are you the only one allowed?” Jon replies with a grin. He kisses Martin again as they laugh. "I didn't realize that was a Martin Blackwood exclusive."

“Come on," Martin grins, pulling Jon by the hand to stand. "Let’s go see some good cows before we both come to our senses.”


End file.
